


To Brand With Beauty

by unsettled



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Comment Fic, M/M, Mutilation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-10-21
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't miss his words, his tongue, most days. Henry was right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Brand With Beauty

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sanzaru](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/1995) by viceindustrious. 



He doesn't mind being without words so much. There's a certain freedom to not being expected to be clever and eloquent and persuading, of not having to watch his speech, his cadence, his tone. And really, he's always been very good at those subtle little indicators – those glances and shifts of his body, the slight opening up to another person, the tilt of his head that is challenge and humor and happiness, and that's all he really needs, isn't it?

He doesn't miss his words, his tongue, most days. Henry was right.

Being in the dark, however, is worse. Maybe he wouldn't mind it so much if he didn't know it was never going to lifted, but he knows – knows, because Henry's told him, and Henry is always thorough – that there will never be anything but darkness and darkness and more darkness.

He wouldn't mind, he thinks, if it weren't for the way Henry's face is beginning to blur around the edges in his memory.

It's not … difficult, really, to get by without sight. He's learned that Henry quite likes the way he tilts his head when he's listening for the soft footfalls on the hall carpet, the way he maps out he contours of Henry's body with his fingers, with his tongue, with his ears pressed to the beat of Henry's heart. He's learned how to look in the right direction, and he thinks others find his unwavering gaze unnerving. Which pleases Henry as well. He's learned to be cautious when he walks, how to take short, careful steps without ever appearing delicate, because Henry doesn't like to be reminded that he is breakable.

He still, still wishes, though, that Henry had left him the sound of Henry's voice, the beat of his heart, the dry laughter and the dry paper rasp of fingers on skin, had left him the ability to judge how high and needy his whines were becoming. Sometimes, he wakes, and is uncertain if he has awakened, if he really is lying on a bed; because the dark looks the same, and the low, incessant hush sounds the same, and when Henry's not there to pull him in, helpless and boneless and startled at the touch, it feels like any other dream.

He doesn't even dream that he still has those things any more.

**Author's Note:**

> A follow up: [A Heavy Morsel of Flesh](http://archiveofourown.org/works/137348)


End file.
